


efficacy

by thirteentorafters



Series: legacy [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Mpreg, Pregnancy, Rookie Year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-04 23:07:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15851301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirteentorafters/pseuds/thirteentorafters
Summary: “You,” Patrick says, jabbing a finger angrily at Jonny. “Are gonna fucking help me, dickface.”Opening his mouth to ask what the hell is going on; Jonny’s eyes drop to Patrick’s stomach. Jonny is acquainted with Patrick’s naked body and the last time they met, Patrick wasn’t fat. Or paunchy. Except that doesn’t look like usual fat. “Oh fuck.”“Yeah, ‘oh fuck’,” Patrick says, imitating Jonny’s tone. “You knocked me up, asshole. What are you gonna do about it?”





	efficacy

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone in the discord mpreg chat who gave me all the cheerleading I could ask for. 
> 
> I can't believe I have done this. 
> 
> Leave me to die.

Jonny opens the door to his hotel room, tugging his wallet out of his pocket to pay for the take out and freezes.

Patrick Kane is standing in his doorway, clutching at a carry-on and wearing a pissed off expression.

“Uh,” Jonny says. “Patrick.”

Shouldering past Jonny, Patrick storms into his hotel room, dropping his carry-on by the door and planting his hands on his hips. Jonny feels out of his depth, off-kilter and that doesn’t change when Patrick grabs the hem of his hoodie, starting to pull it over his head.

“Fuck,” Jonny says, because the last time they did this was at the combine and they’ve never said anything about it happening again, but Patrick is clearly-

“You,” Patrick says, jabbing a finger angrily at Jonny. “Are gonna fucking help me, dickface.”

Jonny has no idea what Patrick’s talking about. “What are you talking about?”

“This,” Patrick snaps, waving a hand in the general direction of his midsection.

Opening his mouth to ask what the hell is going on; Jonny’s eyes drop to Patrick’s stomach. Jonny is acquainted with Patrick’s naked body and the last time they met, Patrick wasn’t fat. Or paunchy. Except that doesn’t look like usual fat. “Oh fuck.”

“Yeah, ‘oh fuck’,” Patrick says, imitating Jonny’s tone. “You knocked me up, asshole. What are you gonna do about it?”

 

 

“Are you seriously gonna pass out?” Patrick shouts from the bed.

Jonny is currently hanging over the toilet bowl, throwing up what’s left of lunch, painfully aware that his dinner is arriving soon and he’s definitely not gonna wanna eat it. “Shut the fuck up.”

“You shut the fuck up,” Patrick says nonsensically. He asked the damn question. “I’m the one who’s gonna end up looking like the side of a house. At least you keep your figure.”

Christ. Patrick’s pregnant. “Are you sure it’s mine?”

There’s a horrible silence from outside the bathroom door.

Jonny flushes the toilet, washing his face in the sink and swallowing deeply before pulling open the door. Expecting to see Patrick glaring angrily at the door, probably ready to throw something heavy at Jonny’s face, instead he gets Patrick talking to someone on the phone. Jonny’s right about the glare.

Jonny’s stomach drops when Patrick hands over the phone and says, “It’s your mom.”

Fuck, fuck. Fuck.

Also fuck.

“Maman,” Jonny says, turning his back on Patrick. Fuck Patrick anyway.

“ _Jonathan,”_ his maman says and god, she sounds disappointed. “ _You are having a child and you did not tell me?”_

“Maman,” Jonny says, looking back over his shoulder at Patrick. He’s smirking but Jonny’s eyes slide to his stomach and he thinks _fuck_. “ _I didn’t know.”_

“ _You asked him if it was yours! I raised you better than this, cheri.”_

“ _Sorry, maman. I didn’t mean, I panicked.”_ Jonny is gonna have to apologise to Patrick, he knows, but right now he feels like he’s having a heart attack. “ _I’m eighteen. I can’t be a father.”_

“ _You will do what’s right_ ,” his maman says, without hesitation. “ _I love you, sweetheart, please take care of yourself and call if you need anything.”_

“ _I will, maman. I love you too.”_ Jonny hangs up and stares down at his phone. That Patrick somehow opened and used to call his mother. “Sorry.”

When he turns around, Patrick’s face is doing something complicated, like he can’t decide whether to be angry at or accepting of Jonny’s apology. Before he can say anything, there’s a knock at the door.

“That’s dinner,” Jonny says, grabbing for his wallet. He gets a flush of déjà vu but shakes it off, taking the bag of takeout from the delivery guy and hands over cash. “Thanks.”

As he shuts the door, Jonny moves over to the bed and hesitates before sitting down next to Patrick. He only has enough food for himself, but he feels awkward with Patrick in the room, and he offers.

“You want some?”

Patrick leans over, poking at the food, and when he sees it’s Chinese, his eyes light up. Jonny sighs, resigns himself to losing half the food to Patrick, but as he peels back the lid to one of the containers, Patrick’s face shifts and after a beat, throws up all over the bed, Jonny’s dinner, and Jonny.

 

 

“I’m sorry,” Patrick mumbles again.

Jonny’s got him sat on the edge of the bathtub, washing his face with his own washcloth. Jonny’s still covered in puke, but he’s trying to take care of Patrick, hyper-aware of the stomach currently holding his child inches away from him. “Stop apologising.”

Patrick blinks at him. “I’m scared.”

“Patrick,” Jonny says, because yeah, he is too.

“Really fucking scared, Jonny.” Patrick leans in, brushing his wet face against Jonny’s neck and bursts into tears.

Jonny holds on, always awkward around crying people, and brushes a hand through Patrick’s hair. “It’s alright.”

“No, it’s not,” Patrick says, through his tears. “I’m gonna be huge and I can’t fucking stand all these emotions and hockey, Jonny. I was supposed to play.”

Jonny froze. Shit. He’s not even considered hockey even though he’s due to at training camp any day with Patrick. Who’s pregnant. “You’ll still play.”

“Fuck you.” Patrick pulls back, glaring, but the effect of it is lessened by his puffy eyes and red cheeks. “You’re not the one knocked up.”

“Stop saying that,” Jonny snaps. He clenches his fist around the washcloth and then relaxes his hand, rinsing it in the sink and squeezing it until it’s damp. Patrick stares at him as he cleans the rest of Patrick’s neck, then moves up to his face. “I’m sorry.”

Patrick nods, throat bobbing as he swallows. “What are we gonna do?”

Jonny’s afraid to ask. He wants to know if Patrick’s gonna keep it or if he’s gonna do something else, something that makes Jonny’s stomach roll unpleasantly.  “I want,” he pauses, drops the washcloth into the bath and touches Patrick’s face, thumb brushing against his bottom lip. “I want it.”

Blowing out a slow breath, Patrick nods quickly, and Jonny can see relief all over his face.

“Did you think I wouldn’t want the baby?”

Patrick looks like he’s gonna start crying again.

“Don’t cry,” Jonny says hastily, pressing their foreheads together. “Of course I want it. Patrick, of course, I do.”

Throwing his arms around Jonny’s neck, Patrick does start to cry again, shit, but he’s laughing too, clinging to Jonny like he’s a lifeline and yeah, okay, Jonny gets it. His grip is just as tight because they’re having a baby. They’re having a _baby_.

 

 

 

The front office is daunting.

It’s not the first time Jonny’s been up here, obviously, but it is when he and Patrick are about to admit to something that could have the potential to mess up their drafting.

“We’ll be alright,” Jonny says, shoulder pressing tight to Patrick’s. “Whatever happens.”

Patrick looks sceptical, one hand pressed against his stomach like he’s afraid the baby will go missing between one second and the next. Jonny reaches over, takes his hand and tangles their fingers together.

“I promise, Patrick. I’ll make everything okay.”

“Shut up,” Patrick says, without heat. Just ten minutes ago he was screaming in the car about how fucked up it was that Jonny couldn’t wear a condom either time they fucked and now he’s a beat away from crying. Jonny’s gonna get whiplash. “It might not be okay.”

Jonny’s got a hundred things he could say to that but the door to Tallon’s office opens and they’re being beckoned inside. Patrick stares down at their hands and then up to Jonny’s face. Jonny’s cheeks heat but he shrugs as he lets go, wiping his palms on his knees.

Tallon, Savard and a couple of guys Jonny doesn’t know are inside. Patrick looks uncomfortable and Jonny desperately wants to take his hand again. He tucks his own under his arms instead.

“Jonathan, Patrick,” Dale says, a strange smile on his face.

Patrick looks between them, then at Savard. “You know?”

Denis rubs at his forehead with a hand and sighs, nodding slowly. “Your mother called Stan. Stan called me.”

“Shit,” Patrick says, and he’s gone green.

“Shit,” Jonny echoes, but he shifts in his chair and puts a hand on the back of Patrick’s neck. “Between your knees, Patrick. Breathe slowly.”

Patrick does as he says, breaths slow and easy. Jonny rubs at the skin exposed by his t-shirt, studiously ignoring the other people in the room. When Patrick’s hand comes up, waving awkwardly in the air, Jonny catches it with his free hand, squeezes tight.

“You’re alright,” Jonny says.

“Bullshit.” Patrick’s voice sounds muffled but when he peers up at Jonny, he’s smiling.

“Patrick,” Dale says, after clearing his throat.

Patrick makes a soft noise and slowly raises his head. He’s still pale, and this time Jonny keeps a hold of his hand, jaw locked, and eyes narrow, daring someone to say something.

“So,” Dale says slowly. “You’re pregnant.”

“Yeah,” Patrick says, fingers tight around Jonny’s. It’s pretty painful but Jonny bites his tongue on saying something. “I know this is gonna fuck up my season. Please don’t trade me.”

Dale and Denis share a look.

“We’re not trading you, Patrick,” Denis says slowly, brow furrowed.

“Oh,” Patrick says. He squirms. “I thought you wouldn’t want a player who could get knocked up.”

“We’re not an archaic club, Patrick.” Denis sits on the edge of Dale’s desk and leans forward slightly, catching Patrick’s gaze and holding it. He’s really fucking good with Patrick and makes Jonny feel useless. He doesn’t like it. “We can work with this.”

Jonny feels relief tighten his chest. “So, what happens now?”

 

 

 

The day before they’re supposed to actually take the ice, Jonny hesitates in the door to the bathroom of the hotel room. Patrick’s asleep on the bed, one hand shoved under the pillow, the other splayed out on Jonny’s side. Jonny’s chest aches to see him and his fingers itch. He wants to touch Patrick, to smooth back his hair and kiss his forehead.

Patrick shifts, eyes fluttering as he squints, fingers flexing against the sheets. “Jonny?”

“I’m here,” Jonny says, standing awkwardly by the bed. Patrick’s running hot and cold, Jonny knows it’s hormones, but it doesn’t make it easier to know what Patrick wants or how to give it.

Patrick rolls over slightly. His hairs ruffled, which is impressive given his curls, and he’s got sleep marks on one side of his face. “Are you mad at me?”

Jonny doesn’t know how to answer that question. “I don’t want you to do it.”

Patrick’s eyes shadow.

“Not because you can’t,” Jonny says quickly, staring down at his hands. “It’s dangerous, Patrick.”

“It’s no contact. Savvy promised.”

That doesn’t make it any easier to handle.

“I want you to have hockey,” Jonny admits. “But I’m scared.”

Patrick stares at him for an uncomfortably long time. Jonny doesn’t know how else to express himself. He knows Patrick wants hockey and he gets Savvy’s train of thought, that he wouldn’t put Patrick in danger, and Jonny trusts Savvy, but this is Jonny’s baby. Patrick’s baby.

Jonny reaches out, slowly, hand shaking. “Can I?”

Tugging down the duvet, Patrick stays silent, but he’s watching Jonny carefully. When he pulls up his t-shirt, stomach exposed, Patrick’s breath hitches. Jonny presses his fingers to Patrick’s skin. There’s smooth, downy hair disappearing beneath the waistband of Patrick’s sleep pants. Jonny knows what Patrick looks like, but something about this feels different.

“Patrick,” Jonny breathes.

Patrick’s fingers come up, resting against Jonny’s wrist. They fan out a little, a stark contrast to Jonny’s summer-tanned skin. He doesn’t try and stop Jonny, just seems to want to touch him.

Re-focusing his attention, Jonny runs his fingers over Patrick’s stomach. It’s stupid; he’s not going to be able to feel anything, the baby’s probably not even formed yet. He did that. Patrick did that. They put a living thing inside of Patrick and it’s gonna be all theirs.

Jonny’s only eighteen, he’s not even really made the Blackhawks team yet and he’s gonna be a father. “Shit.”

“What if,” Patrick starts, staring down at where Jonny’s hand is pressed to his belly. “What if we mess this up?”

“We won’t,” Jonny says, eyes on Patrick’s chin, the corner of his mouth, his eyes. “We can’t.”

Patrick blinks furiously, eyes wet, but he seems frustrated with himself. “I can’t be a dad, Jonny. I don’t even know how to be an adult.”

Jonny doesn’t know what to say.

“I’m gonna mess it up,” Patrick says, panicked. His hands are shaking where they’re clutching at Jonny.

“Probably.” Jonny panics when Patrick pulls away from him, tugging his shirt back down. “Wait, Patrick, I meant we both will.”

Patrick still looks betrayed, hand against his stomach and bottom lip between his teeth.

“We’re still kids, what do we know about raising a baby?” Jonny rests a hand on Patrick’s hip. “But I’ll do my best not to and I know you will too. We can play hockey, right. We can play hockey and have a kid.”

“You think so?” Patrick sounds more terrified than Jonny’s heard him so far.

Jonny’s never failed at anything he wants. He’s not gonna fail at being a father. Or a co-parent. “I think so.”

 

 

Jonny’s on edge all day.

Patrick wakes up, happy and energised like he swallowed batteries or something. He talks all through the morning, all through breakfast, into the locker room. Jonny wants to tell him to shut up but he can’t get his mouth to work, can barely force himself into skates. He loves hockey, wants this more than anything, but there’s a low thrum of panic settling in his chest that he can’t shake.

Patrick’s wearing a no-contact jersey on the ice, grinning, chewing on his mouthguard as he puts his stick to the ice and runs through drills. Savvy is right there, not a hairsbreadth away, and Jonny can see medical staff.

Everything’s fine.

Patrick’s fine.

Jonny feels like he’s having a heart attack.

“Toews,” Savvy barks and Jonny hits the ice, pushes himself to his limits because he needs this because if he and Patrick are having a baby, he wants stability. Chicago can offer stability. They’re growing, they need both Jonny and Patrick but it’s not a sure thing, not unless he gets through rookie camp and they make the team.

Jonny can’t focus on what will happen if he’s sent down to Rockford, if Patrick’s sent back to London. Shit.

“Good job,” Savvy says.

Good job.

It’s not a good job. Jonny’s fucked.

He makes it to the locker room before he throws up so that’s something.

Patrick’s watching him when he gets back on the ice. He skates up, tilts his head up and slaps his stick against Jonny’s shins. “You got it together?”

“Yes,” Jonny lies.

Eyes narrow, Patrick skates around him, then over to Savvy. Jonny ignores them, puts everything out of his head. If he gets through camp, he can have a breakdown when the Hawks decide where they want him.

Savvy corners him at the end of the day in one of the many corridors of the UC. “You can talk to someone.”

Jonny gives him a narrow look. “I’m fine.”

“It’s alright to struggle,” Savvy says.

“I’m not struggling,” Jonny presses. His eyes fly towards Patrick and then back to Savvy. “You put him on the ice.”

“Ah,” Savvy says, and Jonny doesn’t like what his expression does. Savvy folds his arms across his chair. “I wouldn’t endanger Patrick’s child. Your child.”

All it takes is one mistake, Jonny doesn’t say. He nods, murmurs something, gives all the right signs until Savvy’s giving him a friendly shoulder squeeze and moving away. Jonny stares after him, not sure why he’s so angry, but he doesn’t want to go back to the hotel, to Patrick.

He does, because he’s in Chicago and there’s nowhere else to go.

Patrick’s on the phone, talking a mile a minute and Jonny walks right past him, shuts himself in the bathroom. What if Savvy decides it’s too much work to keep Patrick on the team? What if he sends Patrick to Canada and Jonny has to stay in Chicago? That’s too far, Patrick will be too far, the baby will be too far.

Fuck, fuck.

Jonny throws up again, retching and heaving until he’s emptied his stomach. He doesn’t think he’s ever thrown up this much in his life. Maybe he’s dying.

“You are not dying,” his maman tells him, unimpressed when he phones her in a panic. “You know what you’re doing, Jonathan. I trust you to make decisions otherwise I would already be in Chicago.”

Jonny knows that logically. That doesn’t mean he’s not panicking in the bathroom he’s currently sharing with Patrick. “I can’t let Patrick get sent to London.”

“Relax, _cher_ ,” his maman says. “Patrick might not know his limits, you are both so young,” and it’s the most heartbroken he’s heard his maman and it’s probably because they’re too young but they’re both responsible. Jonny’s responsible and he can help Patrick be responsible too, he can. “Your trainers, the staff, they would not let Patrick on the ice if they did not think he could handle it.”

“I know,” Jonny sighs. “Thank you, maman.”

“Take care. Let me know when the bébé is due, oui?”

“Oui,” Jonny says, hanging up. He sighs, hits the bathroom door and slides down to the floor.

He got himself into this – well his dick did, he thinks, looking down at his lap in betrayal. He’ll have to deal with it, even if that means pretending that he’s not screaming internally every time Patrick steps onto the ice.

Jonny’s so engrossed in his own thoughts, his own panic, that he doesn’t notice the door opening until he’s almost falling backwards.

Patrick’s standing in the doorway. “I spoke to my mom.”

“Okay,” Jonny says slowly.

“She told me I was an idiot.”

“Probably,” Jonny agrees. Patrick rolls his eyes and Jonny takes the higher ground by ignoring him. “Why?”

Patrick moves past him slowly, perches on the bathtub. He winces presses a hand to his spine. He waves off Jonny’s concern. “I know you think I’m putting the baby in danger.”

Jonny drops his head against the doorjamb, squeezing his eyes shut. “It doesn’t matter. It’s your body.”

“Don’t be a dick Jonny,” Patrick sighs, and his voice is a lot closer than it was before. When Jonny opens his eyes, Patrick is sitting on the floor beside him. He groans and slides his legs out, wiggling his toes. His moans and groans have been about general aches, but Jonny doesn’t doubt things are gonna hurt a lot more in the coming months. “Not gonna be able to do that for much longer.”

It’s a reminder of why Jonny’s even in the bathroom. “I couldn’t concentrate,” he says, cheek to Patrick’s shoulder. “I kept thinking about the baby, how easy it would be for someone to make a mistake or get rowdy or just – and then you’d get hurt.”

“I’d get hurt?” Patrick asks. “Or the baby?”

“The baby,” Jonny says. At Patrick’s neutral expression, Jonny takes his hand, rubs his thumb against Patrick’s palm. “Both. You. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Patrick stares at him. “We were supposed to be a onetime thing.”

“Except it was twice,” Jonny points out. “And when you were drafted, I was hoping we would – I thought that’s what you wanted when you showed up here.”

“Fat chance,” Patrick says, lips quirking. “I wanted to cut your dick off.”

That’s fair.

“I like my dick,” Jonny says, unable to keep from looking at his lap.

“So do I,” Patrick says carefully, eyes searching Jonny’s face. He breaks into a smile at whatever he finds – probably Jonny’s dumb smile – and shrugs with one arm. “Except when it’s knocking me up.”

“Liar,” Jonny says with confidence, curling a hand around the back of Patrick’s neck and drawing him into a kiss. Patrick comes easily, making soft noises against Jonny’s mouth. It’s like that second time in Toronto, Patrick desperately clutching at him, grinding their hips together. Shit. Jonny pulls back gently.

“Why’d you stop?” Patrick’s eyes are so fucking blue this close.

“You’re pregnant.”

“I’m horny,” Patrick stresses, taking Jonny’s hand and pressing it to his dick, which is definitely interested.

Jonny hesitates too long apparently, because Patrick sighs, shifting to his knees. “Patrick.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Patrick says. He shuffles until he’s straddling Jonny’s lap, leaning in to kiss Jonny once, twice, three times. He’s rolling his hips, breathing heavy against Jonny’s mouth. Jonny clutches at his hips, feeling a little like he’s drowning, but fuck it feels good. “Come on, Jonny.”

Jonny slides his hands into the back of Patrick’s sweats, clutches at his ass. It’s a great ass and Jonny can’t be sorry that he loved it enough in Toronto to create a child. “We made a child.”

Patrick makes a noise that’s punched out of him, and he buries his face in Jonny’s neck.

“You like that, eh?” Jonny says, nosing at Patrick’s temple, the hair curling at the ends. Jonny could touch Patrick’s curls forever, wants to bury his hands in there and never let go. “My baby in there.”

Pressing a hand to Patrick’s stomach, Jonny inches his fingers lower, falling the trail of hair, fingers touching the base of Patrick’s dick. Patrick whines, hips thrusting up into Jonny’s hand. Jonny’s breathing heavy, lips moving against Patrick’s hairline in sloppy kisses, curls his fingers and lets Patrick fuck up into his fist. Patrick’s digging his nails into Jonny’s neck and he’s probably gonna end up with bruises but it’s so fucking worth it for the little puffs of air in his ear, the whimpers Patrick’s making with every slide of his dick in Jonny’s hand.

“Come on,” Jonny urges, rubbing at Patrick’s tailbone, slipping between the cheeks of Patrick’s ass. Patrick jerks forward, groans low in Jonny’s ear, something that’s probably Jonny’s name but just sounds like a garbled mess, and he comes in his sweatpants, coating Jonny’s hand.

Patrick turns his face to Jonny’s neck, lips working against the skin of Jonny’s neck. It’s lazy, Patrick’s hand dropping to Jonny’s lap, cupping Jonny’s dick through his pants and fuck, Jonny’s on edge, stomach tight with the knowledge that he made Patrick come in his pants.

Pushing up, Patrick bites at Jonny’s earlobe and it should be gross, Patrick’s breath hot and wet against his ear, but instead Jonny’s sure he’s gonna shoot his load any second. He’s pretty fucking proud of himself that he lasts right up until Patrick says, “Got me pregnant, you fucking stud,” and it’s such terrible porn dialogue that it shouldn’t do anything but Jonny’s dick thinks it’s great and his orgasm rolls over him, leaving him shaking, hands sliding against Patrick’s back and ass like he’s forgotten how to make them work.

“See?” Patrick says, half-asleep, mouth still pressed to Jonny’s neck. “Pregnant sex is awesome.”

Jonny’s not gonna argue.

 

 

 

They make the team.

“We made the team,” Jonny says, standing in the middle of the room.

“We made the team,” Patrick echoes, staring down at his stomach. “Holy shit I made the team bearing a child.”

His cheeks dimple when he grins and Jonny wants to bend him over and fuck him stupid. Instead, he sweeps Patrick into a kiss, cradles a hand against Patrick’s stomach and says, “We’re Hawks.”

Patrick deflates a little at that. “Not yet. I gotta wait.”

“But you’re a Hawk,” Jonny stresses because he needs Patrick to get it. “You won’t be pregnant forever.”

“We need to find a house,” Patrick says.

“We?” Jonny frowns. “Together?”

Patrick’s eyes narrow dangerously and Jonny’s doing something wrong, but he doesn’t know what. “You want this baby, don’t you, Jonathan?”

Jonathan? Fuck.

“Patrick,” Jonny says, floundering, trying for time.  

“I’m not asking for marriage,” Patrick screams through the bathroom door not ten minutes later. “I’m fucking lonely, Jonny Toews, and I will not raise this baby from Stan Bowman’s basement!”

 _I think Patrick wants to move in with me_ , Jonny texts T.J. He wants to text Dan, but Dan hasn’t spoken to him since they talked about Patrick being pregnant and Jonny’s doing his best not to think about what that means.

T.J sends back the crying laughing emoji. Then _fuck_. Then _get it, Toews_.

Jonny needs new friends.

“Do you want to move in together?”

“I want pistachio ice cream,” Patrick yells.

“You don’t even like pistachio,” Jonny snaps, which, how does he even know that?

“I want. Pistachio ice cream,” Patrick snaps, opening the door a crack to give Jonny the full force of his glare. “And a house.”

“I’m not buying a house,” Jonny says helplessly.

“Condo. Somewhere for our baby to grow up.” Patrick’s staring at him again, less vitriol but there’s still danger in the air. “Please.”

It’s the please that does it. “God, Patrick, yes. Of course, yes.”

Patrick sighs, looking down at the floor. “I still want pistachio ice cream.”

“I’ll get some,” Jonny assures him. “Please come out of the bathroom.”

 

 

Pistachio ice cream.

Bacon and peanut butter sandwiches.

Pickles and cream.

It’s disgusting and so far from Jonny’s meal plan that he’s grateful he’s not eating it. Patrick is, however, and he’s less cranky whenever Jonny practically throws the cravings his way, desperately trying to avoid upsetting the equilibrium they seem to have established.

Condo hunting isn’t going so well, but when Jonny’s told what his first check from the Hawks is gonna be, it gives him a heart attack and he presses his forehead to the cool tile of the bathroom to keep from passing out. Patrick isn’t so lucky; he’s hormonal enough that he burst into tears, wails through the phone at his mom, and then screams at Jonny that having to spend money from his first NHL paycheck on baby shit was not what he planned, Jonny, and that Jonny is gonna pay for it, probably by having his dick slammed in a door.

“Please don’t do that,” Jonny says.

Patrick sulks for five minutes, then looks contrite. “Sorry. I fucking hate this.”

“It’s alright.” Jonny slides onto the bed next to him, curls an arm around his shoulders. Kissing Patrick’s curls, Jonny closes his eyes. “We’ll be alright.”

He’s found it’s easier to believe when he keeps repeating it to himself.

“Find me a house,” Patrick says, throwing an arm over Jonny’s stomach, “and I’ll believe you.”

No pressure.

Jonny waits until Patrick’s asleep, slack and heavy against his body, then manages to extricate himself. He pauses twice, scared that Patrick’s gonna wake, but he’s dead to the world. Grabbing Patrick’s phone from the nightstand, typing in _1988_ which is a stupid password, honestly, so easy to guess, and finds _mom_ in the contacts.

“Patrick, sweetheart, is everything alright?”

“Uh, it’s Jonny, Mrs. Kane. Jonathan Toews.”

“Jonathan.” Donna Kane is scary. Jonny’s met her only the once at the draft and he’s so glad because he thinks if she could get a hold of him now, Patrick’s threats of cutting off his dick would be the least of his problems. “Is Patrick okay?”

“I think so,” Jonny says quietly, slipping over to the far side of the room. He’d go into the bathroom but he wants to keep Patrick in sight. “I’m sorry.”

Donna sighs gently. “I’m mad,” she says, and Jonny feels his stomach drop. “At _both_ of you. You’re not the only one that should protect himself.”

Jonny runs his eyes over the length of Patrick’s body. “I want to do right by him.”

“I know,” Donna says, more warmth in her voice than there was before. “I doubt you’d be calling me otherwise. How are you bearing up?”

“I don’t think I am,” Jonny says honestly. “He keeps shouting at me, wants stupid things. I don’t think I’m ready to be a dad.”

There’s a significant pause from Donna, but Jonny doesn’t think it’s a bad silence. “Hormones are difficult things to get a grip on.” Jonny nods, even though she can’t see it. “Cravings are, sadly, a fact of Kane family pregnancies. Be thankful it’s not specific chocolate from a state away.” Jonny shudders, grateful that bacon and peanut butter is the strangest thing he has to put up with. “That last part.”

“I’m scared of getting it wrong.” For some reason, it’s easy to talk to Donna. Just as easy as talking to his maman. “I don’t want to hurt Patrick, but we’re so fu- young and I don’t wanna mess up our child.”

“I can’t promise it will be easy,” Donna says slowly. She sounds serious but light, and Jonny thinks it’s alright to breathe. “There will be days you want to kill each other, days you’ll wonder if you’ll ever be a good parent, but you will be. Both of you.”

Jonny stares down at his lap. “You don’t even know me.”

“If you think Patrick hasn’t been talking about “that Toews kid” since the first time he played you,” Donna says with a laugh.

“Really?” Jonny stares at Patrick. His mouth is open, so unattractive, and his brow’s furrowed in a scowl. He’s probably dreaming about shouting at Jonny.

“I might not know you,” Donna agrees. “But Patrick trusts you. He knows how the family feels about babies and doing what’s right, but we know how he feels about hockey. If he’s willing to carry this baby and miss hockey until it’s born? He trusts that you’ll be a good father, Jonathan.”

“Jonny,” Jonny says automatically because he thinks his brain’s just shorted out. “I think I have to go.”

Donna sounds like she’s laughing when she says, “give my love to Patrick.”

Jonny hangs up, doesn’t know where he puts Patrick’s phone, but as he crowds up against Patrick, Patrick grumbling in his sleep but fitting his back easily to Jonny’s front nonetheless. Jonny holds onto him tight, closes his eyes and whispers, “I won’t let you down,” into Patrick’s hair.

 

 

 

“Nope,” Patrick says when Jonny shows him the listings he’s compiled.

“What do you mean no?”

“No,” Patrick says again.

Jonny sighs, shifting through the printed sheets. He shoves one across the bed. “This one?”

Patrick at least pretends to look over this one. “There’s no school.”

Taking it back, Jonny scowls. He was sure he’d input the right data. Why is looking for a house so hard?

“This one doesn’t look nice,” Patrick says, tossing the paper on the floor. Jonny bites back on a curse because he knows Patrick’s not gonna be the one picking it up. “I don’t like this or this, and this one doesn’t have a paediatrician nearby.”

“How do you know that?” Jonny definitely didn’t check for that. Oh god, he should check for that. What if their child gets sick and he needs to hurry somewhere?

Patrick’s staring at him. “Are you hyperventilating?”

“No,” Jonny lies.

“Shit.” Patrick’s eyes widen and he takes Jonny’s arm. “Breathe, Jonny.”

“I’m fucking trying,” Jonny manages through gasping breaths. “Fuck.”

“Stop talking,” Patrick says, his voice high pitched. Now Jonny’s scaring Patrick, fantastic.

 _Okay_ , he tells himself. _Fucking breathe_.

Eventually yelling at himself does the trick and he breathes easier. “Sorry.”

“Shut up.” Patrick’s hands are shaking as they card through Jonny’s hair. It feels nice and Jonny pretends he still needs a moment, so Patrick won’t stop.

“Sorry I forgot about the doctor’s office. I’ll do better.”

Patrick sighs, drops a kiss to Jonny’s head. “I’m sorry I’m being such a shit. Nothing feels right, and I just want it to be perfect.”

Jonny lifts his head, touches Patrick’s face because he wants to and because Patrick lets him. “I’ll find something.”

“We can,” Patrick says slowly, looking uncomfortable. “Together. If you want.”

“I do want,” Jonny says, smiling. It’ll be so much better when they do it together. “We can make a list.”

Patrick groans and pushes away from Jonny, mumbling something under his breath that is probably derogatory.

They do make a list, a few condos, more houses, and the more Jonny thinks about it, the more he drops the condos and convinces Patrick a house is good. They need a garden, lots of space. Patrick shrugs because he’s not interested in actually helping, he just wants to tell Jonny he doesn’t like them.

When Jonny sends panicked messages to his maman, Donna and anyone else that will listen, Donna and his maman seem to club together or they’re just psychically linked because they send him the same listings for three bedrooms in Lincoln Park, within their price range, especially if they pool together and wait a couple of months before purchasing something. It will mean living out of a hotel until that point. God, Patrick’s gonna hate that, and what if the baby comes early?

Patrick grabs the laptop from Jonny when he brings them up and says, “that one,” without preamble to the third listing Donna sent him. Jonny admits that it’s nice, room for a child, and either he doesn’t know they can’t buy it yet or he doesn’t care because he settles back on the bed, flicking through channels. He’s been aching a lot recently, stomach getting rounder, and Jonny’s spending more time trying to soothe aches than he is doing anything else.

He fits in training, bulks himself up, ignoring the whines and tantrums Patrick throws when he can’t do the same thing.

“It’s not my fault,” Jonny snaps one day, when it gets too much. He only has so much patience.

It’s the wrong thing to say and Jonny knows it immediately. He ducks the lamp Patrick throws his way – and god, they’re gonna have to _pay_ for that – and flees before something else can smash his skull in.

Relatively easy to get around in Chicago simply because nobody knows who is, Jonny wanders around for a while. Okay, so it’s half his fault. He didn’t wrap it up in Toronto and now they’re both paying the price. He’s contemplating whether or not to grab dinner for both he and Patrick when he gets a text. Digging his phone out of his pocket, he can’t help but smile when he sees Patrick’s message.

_I didn’t mean to throw a lamp at you. I’m tired and sore and I need you :(_

Jonny doesn't know what it says about him that an apology that terrible makes him smile, but whatever.

 

 

 

Patrick helpfully reminds Jonny that renting is an option and Jonny blames hockey and worry about Patrick for why he didn’t think of it. He lets Donna negotiate with the realtor because despite Patrick being eighteen, he’s still demanding she not come down to help them. He’s still trying to pretend both he and Jonny are functioning adults who have this in hand. Jonny doesn’t have the heart to tell him that they’ll both go crazy before the baby’s born if someone doesn’t get them set straight.

With the house sorted, there’s just hockey to deal with.

Jonny’s due to fly out to Columbus for the pre-season and he knows Patrick’s irritated and fucked off and he’s getting tired of being the verbal punching bag.

“You can get pissed at me all you want,” Jonny snaps, throwing some clothes into his bag. Patrick’s sulking on the bed, staring at the TV with his jaw clenched and avoiding Jonny’s gaze whenever he tries to meet them. “But you have to be pissed at yourself too.”

Patrick’s jaw shifts but he still says nothing.

“I’m sorry you don’t get hockey,” Jonny says, sincerely. There’s nothing he wants more than Patrick to be there the first time he steps onto the ice. When it’s clear Patrick’s not gonna budge, Jonny deflates, puffing out a breath. “Is there anything you need before I go?”

“A time machine?” Patrick says instantly, sneering as he tosses the remote on the bed.

Jonny’s throat is thick, but he swallows it down, grabbing his bag. Patrick’s hurting but there’s no reason to wish their baby away. Curling his fingers around the door, knuckle-white, Jonny means to say goodbye. He means to tell Patrick that he’ll be back soon, to call if he needs anything, I’m sorry.

Instead, he narrows his eyes, waits until Patrick’s eyes dart to his, like he’s expecting all of that too. When he’s sure he has Patrick’s attention and can hold it, he grips the handle of the door. “Go fuck yourself.”

The door slams between them and Jonny immediately wants to open it, to take Patrick with him but he forces himself down the hall and into the elevator. Everything is shit, and as soon as the door closes on the empty hall, Jonny presses his forehead to the cool metal. His breath is shaky, eyes wet, but he refuses to give in to the emotions currently rolling through him.

Fuck Patrick anyway.

Jonny endures the ribbing of the team, the long glances, and Sharpy and Burs’ intrusive questions about his and Patrick’s relationship – they mean well, but it’s none of their business – and doesn’t turn his phone on until they’re in the air. The seat next to him is empty because Jonny doesn’t think he can handle trying to make small talk with anyone. There are four missed calls, a load of texts and two voicemails. They’re all from Patrick bar one, which is a text message from his mother reminding him to tell her when he’s coming home for the holidays.

Nutting up and listening to the first voicemail, Jonny tips his head against the window, closing his eyes at the sound of Patrick’s breathing, how shaky it was when he said, “Please pick up, Jonny.”

Fuck.

The voicemail cuts off, so Jonny listens to the second one.

“Sorry, I guess you’re on the plane. I didn’t mean I wanna get rid of the baby, Jonny, I just hate that I can’t have hockey.” Silence, and something suspiciously like a sob. Jonny feels like a dick. “I hate crying, I hate yelling at you, I just wish this was over. I get through the draft and then I can’t play. All I’ve ever had is hockey.”

Jonny drops his phone into his lap, wishing that the flight was already over so that he could call Patrick back.

The rest of the team seem content to leave him alone so when they finally land and Jonny can fumble with his phone, bringing up the rear and waiting for his room key – he knows he’ll be rooming with Patrick when he’s back with them and his heart lurches that Patrick’s not here right now.

“’lo?”

Jonny sags against the wall of the lobby, both hands on the phone and closing his eyes. “Patrick.”

“Tell me,” Patrick says, half-asleep and voice wobbly with emotion. “Tell me it’ll be better when I’m there.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Jonny says immediately because he had nobody to talk the game over with on the plane, no Patrick bitching that his body ached, and nobody to tell him a loss in the pre-season didn’t mean he didn’t belong in the NHL. “Of course it will be better with you.”

This time, when Patrick’s sob is right there on the other end of the phone, Jonny waits for him to collect himself.

“Mom’s here,” he says quietly. “But she’s not you.”

Jonny closes his eyes. “I miss you too.”

Hockey gets easier after that.

Living with Patrick’s temper and his mood swings does not.

 

 

 

The house in Lincoln Park is beautiful and Jonny’s more than grateful not to be living out of a hotel room. They have separate bedrooms because sleeping together in the bathroom of a hotel doesn’t mean they’re suddenly monogamous, but Jonny can’t bring himself to go out with the team and pick up when he thinks _I’m having a baby._

Patrick accompanies them on the road sometimes. The team have them bunking with different people, but Jonny puts his foot down – nobody needs to deal with Patrick’s mood swings but him. Sharpy and Bur adopt Patrick under their wing, dragging him into their pranks, and Jonny would be mad about it except Patrick’s looking a little less like he’s gonna throw Jonny out of a window.

Jonny wishes he wasn’t so enthusiastic about joining in their ribbing of him when he loses at video games, and Patrick says more than once that he wishes Jonny was the pregnant one so that he could play instead, so neither of them wins that argument.

One day Patrick comes downstairs with his hair in disarray, barefoot and shirtless. Jonny almost drops his glass, eyes on the curves of Patrick’s stomach. He’s started showing more lately and Jonny can’t deny that he likes it, likes the thought that he did that, _they_ did, put that life in there. Patrick looks ridiculously young – Jonny’s heard more than one of their teammates talking about it – and it should be weird, but Jonny has to place his glass carefully on the island. “Patrick.”

“I can’t fly out anymore,” Patrick says morosely, hesitating before sliding onto one of the barstools. He’s wincing, and Jonny thinks he should probably help but he doesn’t wanna offer or ask unless Patrick wants him to.

Nothing seems like the right thing to say. “You will.”

Patrick shrugs, dropping his head onto his arms. “I just want to play hockey.”

They have this argument so many times, but Jonny doesn’t know how to refute it, how to make Patrick see that this is only temporary.

“You’re not pregnant,” Patrick always says. “You don’t know.”

Except Jonny does know.

Every time he’s on the ice without Patrick, every time he leaves Patrick behind, there’s a part of himself not in the rink, not focused on the game. He doesn’t like it, makes him feel like he’s not giving a hundred percent to the organisation and he owes them.

He owes Patrick more.

“I told you,” Jonny says, nestling his nose in the hair at Patrick’s temple. “It’s better with you.”

It’s not a solution to Patrick’s problem, but Patrick wraps a hand around Jonny’s waist, squeezes him tight and doesn’t let go for a long time.

 

 

 

 

“I’m huge,” Patrick says, staring at himself in the mirror. He’s poking his belly which Jonny doesn’t think is particularly good, but he keeps his mouth shut. With Jonny out of the state more often then he’s in it – not true, but Patrick’s adamant it’s the case – he gets a lot of vitriol when he finally appears.

There’s nothing he wants less than for labour to hit; honestly, Jonny’s gonna lose several limbs, his dick, and probably his hearing all in one go.

It’s creeping ever closer. Jonny’s read up on it, knows what to expect and how the procedure works, but what he’s not factored in is Patrick himself. He’s been melancholy and quiet lately, and Jonny will catch him staring at his belly, brow furrowed.

“You look good,” Jonny says and means it. He’s staring at the lines of Patrick’s body in the mirror and his cock stirs in interest. There’s something about Patrick looking pregnant, his body swollen and still so sexy, that has Jonny wanting to bend him over the nearest surface. Not that Patrick can bend much but the sentiment is there.

Patrick turns, looking unimpressed. “How can I look good?”

Jonny sighs, abandoning the bag he’s trying to pack, to step over to Patrick. “Turn around.”

“You turn around,” Patrick says because he’s fucking difficult.

“Patrick.” Jonny plants his hands on Patrick’s shoulders and spins him around. Patrick’s eyes dart to Jonny’s in the mirror. “Look.”

He runs his hands down Patrick’s sides, clutches the hem of his t-shirt – a maternity shirt that either his maman or Donna sent down – and pulls it up. Patrick’s stomach looks even better exposed, and Jonny plants a leg between Patrick’s, nudging them apart so that he can see the line of Patrick’s dick in his pants. Patrick complies, which in itself is a fucking wonder, and he’s got his head resting back against Jonny’s shoulders, trusting him. Jonny swallows thickly, brushing his nose against the line of Patrick’s throat, inhaling his scent.

“See,” Jonny says, and he’s not even really talking to Patrick anymore. When he looks up, they both look so young in the mirror, but Jonny can’t help but imagine them five, ten years in the future and nothing changes except the speed of his heartbeat. “There’s nothing wrong with this.”

Hands on Patrick’s belly, Jonny runs them lower, nose brushing Patrick’s temple as he talks.

“So good, Patrick.” Patrick whimpers and Jonny swallows, tries not to think too hard about his dick and how easy it would be to come. Being a teenager sucks whenever he wants to get a good jerk off going, but right now he doesn’t care, coming would be the best fucking thing.

“Jonny,” Patrick says, and his voice sounds so good pitched high and desperate.

Jonny kisses his neck, slipping his hands lower, into the waistband of Patrick’s loose pants. He drags his eyes down Patrick’s body in the mirror, sees Patrick’s dick straining against his pants, the wet patch growing with every heave of Patrick’s chest. “Look at you.”

Patrick turns his head into Jonny’s neck, fingers scrabbling against Jonny’s arm and shoulder. Jonny doesn’t think he needs to go any further, can just keep telling Patrick how good he looks, and Patrick will blow his load.

“Please,” Patrick whimpers, and bites down on Jonny’s neck.

“Yeah,” Jonny says, fingers brushing against the head of Patrick’s dick, and that’s all it takes.

Patrick clutches at Jonny as he comes, legs shaking, fingers fumbling for Jonny’s pants, for his dick.

“It’s alright,” Jonny says because as if he was gonna be able to last with that. Patrick’s eyes are wide, something predatory staring back at him as Patrick shoves a hand in Jonny’s pants, can feel the wet patch. Jonny’s not really ashamed but he’s a guy and he can’t help the flush to his cheeks, the embarrassment low in his belly.

“Fucking wow,” Patrick says, his breath hitching. There’s a pause and he’s mashing their lips together. Jonny opens his mouth, lets Patrick take, holds on for dear life.

 

 

 

“How’s lil’ Peekaboo?” Sharpy asks, dropping down next to Jonny on the plane.

Jonny is automatically suspicious. Sharpy never sits next to him, always half-way down the plane with his partner-in-crime and Jonny narrows his eyes. “Pregnant.”

Sharpy snorts. “Thank you for that pearl of wisdom, To-ez.”

“It’s Toews,” Jonny says, and not for the first time. “Missing the team. Missing _hockey_.”

“Sucks,” Sharpy commiserates, then doesn’t say anything for the rest of the flight.

Jonny’s tired when they finally land in Chicago, and it’s all he can do to stay awake as he catches a cab back to their house. The lights are off when he gets in, but the house is warm, and Jonny’s not usually grateful that Patrick stays behind, but when he doesn’t have to be cold, it’s nice.

Patrick’s asleep in Jonny’s bed.

Jonny stares; the sheets are trailing on the floor with Patrick’s movements, his arms shoved under Jonny’s pillows, position awkward. Jonny doesn’t know what it must be like, sleeping while you’re that big, but Patrick never complains beyond making Jonny give him back rubs and foot rubs and massages to his shoulders and, okay yeah, he complains a lot, but Jonny thinks he might too if he couldn’t ever get comfortable.

Forgoing the shower – Patrick can just deal with it if he’s gonna be in Jonny’s bed – Jonny sheds his clothes until he’s standing in his boxers. Getting into bed is gonna be a challenge but fuck it, he’s tired and doesn’t wanna get into Patrick’s bed, which will probably be just as warm, but doesn’t have Patrick in it.

Patrick shifts, mumbles something as he rolls onto his side, right into Jonny’s space. Jonny rolls his eyes and lays down, shoving at Patrick gently until he lets out a soft sigh, throwing his arms around Jonny’s waist. Jonny isn’t used to sharing his bed, isn’t used to sharing so much of his space, but Patrick’s there anyway.

Jonny finds that he doesn’t mind so much.

Sharpy’s nosiness becomes clear the next day, once Jonny and Patrick finally manage to climb out of bed and go downstairs. Patrick buries himself in one of his Blackhawks jerseys, always self-conscious of his stomach even after his and Jonny’s handjobs in front of the mirror.

Jonny gets the door when someone rings and is startled as half the Hawks pile into their house, talking so loud Jonny’s half expecting the neighbours to complain, but planting themselves in the living room anyhow. Sharpy drags Patrick into a headlock, rubbing at his hair, which sets Jonny’s teeth on edge until Patrick laughs and swats at Sharpy.

When they’re all settled, Patrick gives him a look over the back of the couch which, whatever, it’s not like Jonny invited them. By the time they’ve broken out the video games and have started a competition that involves creative swear words, potato chips and arm wrestling, Patrick’s looking happier around the edges, joins in with the chirps, and tosses a controller at Sharpy’s head when he makes a derogatory comment about Jonny’s dick.

“It’s a good dick,” Patrick says, eyes narrow.

Sharpy holds up his hands amid the laughing and crowing of their teammates.

“It knocked you up,” Jonny says proudly.

Patrick looks less like he wants to protect Jonny and Seabs makes a slashing motion across his neck. “Did it?”

“Uh,” Jonny says, not sure there’s any right answer to that.

Lapointe lets out a sigh. “Reminds me of my wife. You’re not gonna win, Tazer. Just agree.”

“Yes Patrick,” Jonny says dutifully.

Patrick flips him the bird. “Next time you’re carrying and I’m playing.”

“Next time?” Jonny asks weakly.

Patrick shrugs him off, but Sharpy’s wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and Jonny wants to punch him in the face.

“Dunno, Kaner. Jonny’s ‘good dick’ might be magical,” Burs says thoughtfully.

“Fuck you all,” Patrick says, focusing back on the video game. He’s smiling though, shoulders less tense than they have been, and even though Jonny wants to shove Sharpy off the couch, he supposes he’s done a good thing.   

Sharpy grins. “Nah, Kaner. We’ll leave that to Jonny.”

On second thoughts.

 

 

 

“Jonny!”

Patrick’s yell has Jonny out of the bathroom and running down the stairs so fast he almost falls and breaks his neck. His heart is hammering in his chest, panic seizing every inch of his body because anything could be happening, what if the baby’s early – _too_ early – but when he skids into the kitchen, Patrick is standing in the doorway to the dining room, hand on his stomach, expression awed but nothing about him is panicked.

“What?” Jonny snaps, because seriously. “I thought you were hurt or the baby was –”

Patrick grabs his hand, tugs him forward. “Shut up. Feel.”

Jonny scowls as Patrick manhandles his hand onto his stomach. “What, Patrick? What was so urgent that I had to –”

Cutting himself off for the second time, Jonny’s eyes widen as beneath his hand, he feels the baby kick. Their baby. Their child. Letting them know it’s right there.

“Oh my god,” Jonny says, awed, looking up at Patrick’s blinding smile.

“Jonny.”

“Yeah,” Jonny breathes, unable to take his hand away. “Patrick.”

Patrick closes his eyes, mouth curved into a pleased smile, and Jonny’s never been happier – not even when he was drafted.

 

 

 

They have three games away just before Patrick’s birthday.

Patrick’s pretending he’s not bothered by it, but Jonny catches him looking darkly at his stomach as if betrayed by his own body. Jonny feels the familiar flood of guilt in his stomach, an almost constant companion these days, and runs a hand over his face.

He tries talking to some of the guys on the team, but they either tell him to give it time or they look uncomfortable. Jonny doesn’t ask if it’s because it’s Patrick, because he’s eighteen, or pregnancy freaks them out. Jonny gets that they’re young, it was an accident, and yeah, maybe the Hawks would be fine if Patrick was playing with them, but Jonny can’t change that. Wouldn’t even if someone had asked.

Instead, he tries to think of something that he can get for Patrick that will at least make him smile. Alternating between happy and depressed, Patrick spends a lot of the time before Jonny leaves for the road trip splayed out next to him on the couch, head on Jonny’s shoulder, fingers tangled with Jonny’s. Jonny holds him close, breathes in the scent of him and wishes he didn’t have to go.

 _I love you_.

Jonny wants to say it, wants to throw the words out there and see what Patrick does with them.

“We’ll go out,” Jonny says, closing his eyes and burying his nose in Patrick’s cold.

Patrick huffs out a laugh. “No.”

“Alright,” Jonny says easily because he’s getting better with Patrick’s moods. “We’ll celebrate your birthday here instead.”

Patrick shrugs like it doesn’t bother him, and Jonny fights down the flare of anger. “I have a scan.”

Jonny tightens his grip on Patrick. “I’ll be there this time.”

“Yeah,” Patrick says without heat.

Jonny missed one because he was on the road. He’s here for the second and that’s important. “Patrick, look at me.”

Patrick doesn’t, because he’s a pain in the ass, so Jonny tilts his head up, stroking his jaw gently. Patrick’s eyes flutter and he sighs, begrudgingly meeting Jonny’s eyes. “What?”

“I want to know who they are.”

It’s the right thing to say; Patrick’s smile is small but warm, and his fingers curl around Jonny’s sweater. When he closes his eyes, water collecting in Patrick’s eyelashes, Jonny panics.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.” Patrick swallows, licks his lips. Jonny brushes the tears from his cheeks and Patrick leans into it. “It’s real, you know?”

Jonny does know; thinking about having an actual living breathing human being that’s all theirs? That they’re responsible for? Jonny’s chest tightens, his breathing laboured, but it doesn’t make him reconsider. “I’m still excited.”

“Good,” Patrick says. Then again, “Good.”

“Are you?” Jonny asks, a little afraid of the answer.

“Yes.” The reply is enthusiastic, but he’s still not smiling, still looks sad. “I just – I don’t know what to do. What I’m going to do.”

Jonny doesn’t know what to say to that. He knows how he’s gonna handle it, knows what it’s like to be him, but he’s not carrying the baby, not going through the emotions. “With the baby?”

“We’re so young,” Patrick says. He’s not looking at Jonny anymore, has his cheek to Jonny’s chest. “What if we start to resent the baby because we wanna –”

“We wouldn’t,” Jonny says with complete certainty.

“You know that?” Patrick sounds sceptical.

“I do.” Jonny squeezes Patrick’s shoulders, runs his thumb over Patrick’s cheek. “You’re doing so well, Patrick.”

“Shut up.” The words are muffled, spoken through a snuffling nose.

Jonny says nothing, just lets Patrick work through whatever he needs to do.

“I’ll do my best.”

“I know you will.” Jonny leans in, kisses the crown of Patrick’s head. “I’ve never doubted it.”

Patrick finally tilts his head back, kisses Jonny’s chin and jaw. “I’m sorry.”

Jonny rolls his eyes. “Don’t be an idiot.”

“Charming,” Patrick says, but finally there’s a smile pulling at his lips.

“You know it,” Jonny says, tugging Patrick into a kiss.

Jonny’s not foolish enough to think that’s the end of it.

 

 

 

The nurse in charge of their scan smiles warmly, talks gently like she’s trying to keep them at ease. Patrick’s done this once already, goes through the motions with a put-upon expression on his face like this is such a hardship, but Jonny clings to his hand, alternating between happiness and irritation whenever the nurse manhandles Patrick anywhere.

“Relax,” Patrick says, eyes narrowing.

“I’m relaxed,” Jonny lies.

“I’ll be gentle,” the nurse says, a knowing look on her face.

Jonny studiously ignores her, holding Patrick’s hand tighter than Patrick wants, but he can suck it up. This is a big moment for both of them. Patrick spent the drive over bitching about this being his birthday, he shouldn’t be the size of a whale, but Jonny’s gonna spoil him later.

Jonny is, but he’s not about to tell Patrick that.

Patrick flinches when the nurse applies the gel, but the grip he has on Jonny’s hand keeps him from threatening the nurse or doing something stupid like throwing the ultrasound equipment across the room.

When Jonny’s eyes flick to the monitor, Patrick’s fingers smoothing the back of his hand, his stomach flip-flops. Jonny thinks it’s nausea and is about ready to hurl, but then the scan coalesces into a baby, into a real and solid form. That’s theirs.

“Oh fuck,” Jonny says.

Patrick rubs his cheek against Jonny’s wrist.

“What sex,” Patrick starts, eyes flicking to Jonny. At Jonny’s nod, he swallows. “What sex is –”

The nurse shifts the probe across Patrick’s stomach, smearing gel in a glistening line. Jonny’s attention is caught on it, on the stretch of Patrick’s stomach, but then Patrick’s whispering his name and Jonny looks up to see –

“A daughter?”

“A little girl,” the nurse tells them.

“Oh my god,” Patrick breathes, and bursts into tears.

The nurse leaves, giving them a little privacy, and Jonny curls his arms around Patrick’s shoulders, angle awkward, and presses kisses to his face. “We’re having a daughter.”

“Jonny,” Patrick says, over and over again.

“Happy birthday,” Jonny says, feeling ridiculous, but Patrick’s laughing through his tears, clutching at Jonny like he’s the best thing ever, and Jonny never wants to let him go.

 

 

 

Christmas approaches and Jonny’s freaking out.

He hasn’t bought Patrick anything yet, doesn’t know what he can get now that they’re both flush and could buy whatever they want.

Will be flush. Or something.

Jonny’s flown up to Winnipeg; they have a game in Ottawa and Jonny wants to spend some time with them before they all fly down to celebrate Christmas in Chicago with Patrick’s family.

His maman dotes on him, so happy with Jonny, excited about the baby, and talking about hockey in equal measure. His papa is more understated, calmer but no less proud, though he looks a little weird whenever the baby’s brought up. Nervous, Jonny has to ask his maman about it.

“ _He cries_ ,” his maman says, but she’s smiling warmly. “ _So happy to have a petits-fils.”_

Jonny takes a breath. “ _Petite fille.”_

His maman looks at him, pressing a hand to her mouth. “Une fille?”

Jonny nods. “Yeah.”

He’s crushed in a hug and Jonny laughs, buries his face in his maman’s neck.

“A girl,” he breathes. “Maman, I’m having a girl.”

“Oh, cher.” His maman laughs through her tears. “Your papa is gonna cry some more.”

“That’s okay,” Jonny says, because it is. His papa is happy and that’s what counts.

David finds the whole thing weird, wrinkles his nose and doesn’t care much beyond fist-bumping Jonny when he tells him it’s gonna be a girl.

Jonny wisely doesn’t tell his family that he doesn’t have anything for Patrick for Christmas. There’s nothing he can get that will have Patrick smiling like he used to when Jonny first fell for him at the WJC. He wants that smile back, just doesn’t know how to get it. His maman would be disappointed, make noises about helping him and if there's one thing he's sure if, it's that he doesn't need his maman's help to buy  _gifts_.

When he texts T.J after the game – a win that Patrick’s already sent him seven exclamation marks for – he gets a stupid response.

_He’s just gonna mock you if you haven’t bought anything yet. Get him Canadian moose ears or sthg._

It’s the stupidest idea except for the mocking part. Mocking Jonny with the team definitely has Patrick smiling, grinning in a way that’s just theirs, like mocking each other is how they work. Which, it kinda is. Would be. Jonny doesn’t know what their relationship is like without a baby between them, but he doesn’t wanna find out.

If mocking Jonny makes Patrick smile again, he’ll buy the most Canadian thing he can find.

 

 

 

Christmas rolls around, panic seizing Jonny because he’s got games, they’ve got stuff to do, and their families are flying out for Christmas in their house and what if there’s no room, what if people fight and it gets awkward and nobody wants to come back.

“Relax,” Patrick says for the fiftieth time. Either their daughter’s being calm today, or Patrick’s just excited to have his family around. Maybe both. Maybe he’s just happy he doesn’t have to spend all that time with Jonny by himself.

“I can’t,” Jonny snaps, checking for the tenth time they remembered everything for dinner.

“I will cut your fingers off if you open that refrigerator one more time,” Patrick says, with a deceiving smile. Jonny quietly shuts the door. “Come sit with me till you have to leave for the airport.”

Jonny does as he asks, content to bask in the silence and calm for a little while longer.

A day later he’s wishing for that calm, with a house full of people, the smell of Christmas dinner wafting through the door, and Patrick’s sisters tearing into the wrapping on their presents.

Jonny’s opening his gifts more sedately, but he can’t help but look at Patrick out of the corner of his eye when he picks up the present Jonny bought him in an airport in Ottawa. He doesn’t say that because he’s not an idiot – he’s not going to admit that it took him too long to find something for Patrick – but then Patrick’s holding up the white onesie, squinting down at the writing.

“Jonny,” Patrick says, snorting. “This is the most Canadian onesie you could have bought.”

“Shut up,” Jonny says on principle.

“No really.” Patrick nudges him, eyes warm. His maman is watching them, a fond look on her face, and Donna’s crying already, which is obviously where Patrick gets it from. The girls are all fighting over their gifts and David’s watching with them abject fascination. Patrick’s dad and Jonny’s papa are arguing about something good-naturedly.

Jonny’s not as freaked out by their families meeting anymore, thinks this is a good system they have going and doesn’t even care that Patrick’s making noises about getting an American flag onesie just to mess with Jonny.

“I love you,” he blurts, in the middle of the living room, Patrick still holding up the stupid onesie, white with two black eyes and nose in the middle, _Canadian polar bear in a snowstorm_ written underneath. It’s dumb and stupid and Jonny bought it because he panicked, and now he’s panicking again because he’s just said _I love you_ over a onesie. Shit.

Patrick’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second, then he’s laughing open and honest. “Duh.”

Jonny hesitates, a brief flare of disappointment that maybe Patrick doesn’t feel the same, but then Patrick’s hauling him in for a kiss. Closed mouth and chaste because their _parents are right there_ but Jonny returns it, grins like an idiot.

“I didn’t kill you when you got me pregnant,” Patrick says lightly. “Of course I love you, you idiot.”

 

 

 

Neither of them is laughing five days later, when Patrick stands in the middle of the kitchen, preparing for the New Year’s Eve party at Sharpy’s and swallows thickly.

“Jonny,” he says, eyes wide with horror. “I don’t feel so good.”

He’s gone white as a sheet and Jonny stumbles over, dropping the tea towel on the floor, grabbing Patrick’s shoulders as he collapses forward. “Patrick?”

Panicking, Jonny calls for an ambulance, mentally panicking because fuck, shit, it’s time, it’s now, he doesn’t know what to do. When the EMTs arrive, Jonny calls his maman, calls Donna, calls Sharpy, so many phone calls as he climbs into the ambulance, clinging to Patrick’s hand.

Patrick’s face is strained, his fingers shaking, and he’s breathing hard, hands on his stomach. Jonny doesn’t know what’s happening, why the EMTs don’t seem to be doing anything, this can’t be normal, can’t be right.

“Jonny,” Patrick says, deceptively calm, but there’s an edge to his eyes that screams _crazy_. “If you ever do this to me again, I’m going to shove a hockey puck so far up your ass you’ll –”

Jonny never finds out quite what will happen to him because Patrick’s face goes slack then scrunches up with pain, gritting his teeth and grabbing Jonny’s hand, holding so tight Jonny thinks he’s gonna have broken fingers.

The hospital feels a million miles away and all Jonny can do is try and soothe Patrick while Patrick’s coming up with more and more inventive ways to injure and maim Jonny with hockey equipment.

“I promise,” Jonny says, when Patrick tells him they’re never doing this again. There’s a small pang of regret because Jonny likes the thought of having more children with Patrick, but he also misses playing with Patrick.

When they finally make it inside, doctors talking over themselves about c-sections and epidurals and other words Jonny’s read about but never really wanted to understand the concept of. Right now, he’s alone, Patrick being whisked away to get set up for the procedure, and Jonny’s left with a nurse, who walks him through getting ready. He does as he’s asked, doesn’t want to cause the baby or Patrick stress or illness, and then stands uselessly by Patrick’s head.

Patrick’s eyes are narrowed, angry, but face pinched in fear, and Jonny reaches out, places his hand in Patrick’s.

“Break my fingers if you want,” he says easily.

Patrick snorts, but looks deadly serious when he says, “Sure.”

Donna and Jonny’s maman are in Chicago still, so he thinks maybe they’ll arrive before the doctor gets started, but then they’re giving Patrick an injection in his spine, which has Patrick whimpering enough that Jonny wants to haul back and punch everyone in the room.

“M’okay,” Patrick says, squeezing Jonny’s hand gently for the first time in hours. 

Jonny nods dumbly, stares at the other end of the bed, where the privacy screen obscures his view of the birth. Part of him wants to watch, wants to see their baby being born, but he can’t make himself let go of Patrick, not when Patrick can’t see either.

Things go weird and fuzzy after that; Jonny can see Patrick’s breath puffing against the oxygen mask, can feel the painful grip Patrick has on his hand, can see the doctors and nurses working around them, but nothing really filters until the nurse is holding the baby out to Patrick, whose eyes are cloudy but he’s grinning like an idiot.

Releasing Jonny to cradle their baby against his chest, Patrick lets out a sob, presses a kiss to the top of her head and Jonny’s heart stops for a beat, two. They have a daughter. She’s real and oh god, Patrick gestures for him and Jonny goes, touches a finger to her face. She’s screaming, face scrunched up like Patrick’s when he really gets going, but before they can do anything, the nurse is whisking her away again.

“What’s happening?” Jonny asks, panic squeezing his chest.

“Procedure,” a nurse tells him honestly.

Patrick’s looking a little white, and Jonny touches his face, kisses him full on the mouth right there.

“You did so well,” Jonny says.

Patrick’s not tracking him well, and when he touches Jonny’s face, his fingers don’t quite reach, sinking back to the bed, and he blinks a couple of times. “I don’t feel so good.”

Fuck. Fuck.

“Oh god, Patrick?” Jonny snaps, shaking Patrick’s shoulder.

The doctors and nurses are talking in clipped tones and someone grabs Jonny, tries tugging him from the room. “What’s happening?”

“Please,” someone says, shoving him hard, and Jonny’s out in the corridor, staring at the doors and wanting to scream, throw something, oh god, what’s happening to Patrick, he can’t lose Patrick not now.

“Jonny!” Donna hurries down the hallway, Jonny’s maman on her heels, and Jonny’s never been so grateful to see anyone in his life. Donna immediately sweeps him into a hug and Jonny bursts into tears.

 

 

 

“Your partner is fine,” the doctor tells him with a gentle smile.

Jonny’s glad he still has his head pressed between his knees, nausea rolling through his stomach. “I want to see him. I want to see _her_.”

“We can arrange that,” the doctor tells him.

Donna and his maman don’t let him up, don’t let him move until they’re sure he’s alright. Jonny doesn’t feel totally alright, still feels like a part of him is back in the room.

“It’s just blood loss,” Donna tells him gently, not for the first time. “It happens.”

It didn’t look like blood loss, didn’t feel like that. Jonny doesn’t want to feel like that ever again.

When Jonny finally gets in to see Patrick, he’s propped up a little in bed, still looking pale, but he’s smiling weakly, exhausted in ways Jonny can only imagine.

“Hey,” Jonny says, heart hammering until he gets his hands on Patrick’s face, can touch their foreheads together. “I was worried.”

“Sorry,” Patrick mumbles, kissing him weakly. “We made a baby.”

“Yeah, we did.” Jonny doesn’t let Patrick go, keeps kissing him gently until the nurse returns with their baby.

She’s gorgeous, Jonny thinks, joy bursting in his chest as Patrick cradles her close, his eyes suspiciously wet. Jonny runs a hand through Patrick’s curls. Jonny wants to hold her, wants to whisper everything he’s gonna do for her, the ways he’s gonna protect her, but he’s content to let Patrick have his fill, more than aware that he’s so incredibly lucky to have them both.

 

 

 

“Do you have a name yet?” Donna says. She’s perched on the edge of Patrick’s bed, smoothing back his hair.

Jonny’s maman is watching him, snapping pictures of him holding their daughter and probably sending them to everyone in the family.

“Oh,” Jonny says, panicked. He and Patrick share a look. “We didn’t think of that.”

Donna laughs, and even Jonny’s maman looks more amused than irritated. “You’ll just have to think fast then, won’t you?”

Jonny stares down at her, then up at Patrick.

“Scarlett,” he says.

“Isabella,” Patrick says.

“We’re not naming her after a vampire person, Patrick!” Jonny says quickly, shushing the baby when she starts to snuffle.

Patrick’s grinning, like it’s a joke. He shrugs, then stares at Jonny holding their baby in a way that makes the blood rush south. Fuck him, their moms are in the room!

“Scarlett,” Patrick says, like he’s testing the word.

“Scarlett Isabella,” Jonny corrects, because they can get better at this team thing.

“Scarlett Isabella,” Patrick echoes.

Their moms seem satisfied, taking their turns with the baby, cooing and crying alternately. Jonny stumbles over to Patrick, wants desperately to make out with him until they both fall asleep. He settles for kissing Patrick’s forehead, then his mouth, closing his eyes.

“Now,” he says gently, watching the light in Patrick’s eyes, the smile teasing his mouth. “We go play awesome hockey.”

“Yeah,” Patrick says, eyes flicking to their daughter then back to Jonny. “For our Winter Classic baby.”

It’s the stupidest thing he’s ever said – they’re not even playing in the Winter Classic – but she’s definitely their winter classic, their beautiful Scarlett, and Jonny thinks he could win a Stanley Cup and it would never feel like this.

**Author's Note:**

> [this](https://www.ucanada.com/content/images/thumbs/0003138_canadian-polar-bear-in-snowstorm-baby-onesie.jpeg) is the polar bear onesie. 
> 
> join me on [tumblr](http://thirteenrorafters.tumblr.com)!


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